


Of Braces and Nonexistent Convenience Stores

by remywrites (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, I dont have a beta, aka i love the idea of matsukawa and hanamaki hating each other for a really long time, aka i noticed watari wears an arm brace and way too many ideas sprang from that, aka this will probably go in like ten different directions because i love seijou, aka yahaba and watari try not to become oikawa, probably little to no angst, send help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/remywrites
Summary: Watari Shinji probably should hate Yahaba Shigeru.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote a fanfiction a million years ago and I'm back! This has no beta and doesn't really need one, but I have a few ideas for bigger, cooler, better AUs so if anyone would be interested in screaming with me about AUs and maybe editing my horrible grammar message me...?

If Watari Shinji were a meaner-spirited guy, he probably would hate Yahaba Shigeru.  
During the first practice on the first day of freshman year, it becomes painfully obvious that Watari Shinji will not be the setter to take Oikawa’s spot when he graduates. Yahaba isn’t outstandingly talented or flashy by any means, but he’s cool-headed and graceful on the court, and his sets, while perhaps a bit more underdeveloped than Watari’s, are quicker, and he makes decisions that make Watari pause like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  
Also, he’s a good 10 centimeters taller, but Watari never let that stand between him and the court before.  
After that first practice of the year, Watari (to his utter confusion), Yahaba, and Kyoutani are instructed to practice with the rest of the team while the other two first years practice basics with the assistant coach until they can be considered for positions. Then they’re left with two second years instructed to show them their cleaning duties (as punishment for arguing- they don’t seem to get along) while the rest of the upperclassmen ( and an angry Kyoutani) go on their merry way.  
And it isn’t until after cleaning up that the assistant coach approaches him to tell him that next year, the libero spot will be open, and Watari’s receives showed a lot of promise, and suddenly Watari gets it. Honestly, it shouldn’t sting as much as it does- he’s always been good at receives, always had doubts about continuing as a setter, especially at a good school, and in the end, he’ll do whatever it takes to stay on the court.  
But it feels like being punched in the chest, by a truck, or maybe superman.  
In that moment, Watari Shinji hates Yahaba Shigeru.  
He gets out a bit later than the rest of the first years because of that conversation, and he’s left to walk across the deserted campus alone, stewing in frustration and anger. The sun hasn’t set yet, summer heat sticking Watari’s shirt to his back and making the day far longer than he’d prefer right now, but the shadows are long and he’s hungrier than he can remember feeling in his life. High school practices aren’t anything to sniff at, even the first of the season.  
He’s nearing the entrance to the school, trying to remember if there’s a convenience store on his walk home, when he sees lights on and hears a ball smacking to the floor of the smaller gym near the entrance. The door is leaned closed so Watari can’t see who it is, but curiosity has gotten the better of him far more often than it hasn’t, and despite being overheated and tired and hungry, Watari peaks into the gym.  
He doesn’t find the dedicated upperclassmen he thought he would, making up for a restful summer. Instead he finds none other than Yahaba, sweaty and red-faced, with a cart of volleyballs and a water bottle, setting down the net.  
The ball he’s setting lands just to the left of the bottle, and Yahaba shoots it a particularly vengeful look that’s odd on a face Watari saw with a mostly neutral expression all practice. It crosses Watari’s mind to turn around and get the fuck out of there before apparently-terrifying-and-intense-Yahaba murders him to ensure his spot as future setter. But the fact is, the guy looks as frustrated and exhausted as Watari feels (for some reason-there’s a lot that Watari would do to be in his position right now) and Watari is a fundamentally nice, friendly guy, and he can’t hate Yahaba, no matter how much he wishes he could. So when he catches Yahaba’s narrowed eyes, he gives him a wide smile.  
They’re going to be teammates for the next three years. They should get along, no matter their rivalries.  
He’s surprised (relieved, because for a moment the other guy’s stare had made him fear for his safety) when Yahaba shoots back a smile, pausing with his hand halfway in the ball cart. “Oh hi there! Watari, right? You’re out late.”  
Watari laughs. “Assistant coach wanted to talk a bit. I could say the same to you.”  
Yahaba runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Didn’t get to practice sets as much during practice as I’d like, so I thought I’d do a little extra.”  
There’s a pause, in which Watari realizes that if he doesn’t drag Yahaba out of this gym he’ll probably be here for hours, because Watari’s been there. In the end, it got him the captaincy his last year of middle school, but it also got him an annoying elbow brace and some pretty hefty medical bills, which Watari wouldn’t wish on anyone, much less a teammate.  
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Watari announces. “I think I saw a convenience store down the street, so… want to get something?”  
Yahaba blinks at him, then smiles. “Sure! Let me just clean up in here…”  
Watari helps Yahaba gather the balls and stow them away, squinting at the set of keys Yahaba uses to lock the door.  
“It’s the first day, how do you already have keys?” he asks grumpily.  
The taller boy shrugs. “I asked the janitor, and he said something about nostalgia and how someone’s going to come yell at me and he isn’t responsible for homicide and then handed them over.”  
Watari snorts. “Good to know you haven’t managed to make yourself that much of a favorite yet, at least.”  
Yahaba narrows his eyes, a smile quirking the edges of his mouth. “Aw c’mon, Matsukawa seems like he wants to adopt you already.”  
“Oikawa said you have potential with a creepy glint in his eye.”  
Yahaba’s quiet for a moment, an odd, pensive look on his face. It’s gone in a moment, eye’s sparkling with curiosity. “So, what did the assistant coach have to say?”  
Watari had forgotten about that in the moment, and the memory brings back his sour mood. “He told me my receives are good,” he says, more bite to his voice than he intends, “and I should switch to training to be a libero.”  
Yahaba’s silent for a moment. He tends to pause before he answers people, Watari’s noticed, like he’s carefully choosing his words. “You do have good receives,” he finally answers. “What do you think?”  
“I’m a setter!” Watari surprises himself a bit with his outburst, frustration and a bit of anger boiling over. “I’ve always been a setter! And now you’re here and better and it seems so obvious to switch, but…”  
Yahaba’s giving him and odd look, so Watari allows himself to trail off. “What?”  
“Nothing, it’s just… you’re a lot more competitive than you seem,” Yahaba shrugs. “You’re a really good setter. You’re obviously more experienced playing with a team and your sets are really precise. Our coach doesn’t value height as much as some.” Watari glares at him for the quip, but lets it slide. Yahaba grins back. “So, fight me for setter, or be a really good libero.”  
“Ugh, you make it sound like a simple choice,” Watari groans.  
“You’ve got time to choose,” Yahaba says. Then, after (another) pause,“We’re both really intense, aren’t we?”  
Watari laughs. “God, it’s already the first practice and you’re doing extra practice and I’m having an existential crisis.”  
Yahaba holds his hand up to his ear. “Hello, intensity police? I’d like to report an incident near Seijou High, yes, two highschool boys in…”  
They both break out laughing, and Watari feels warm because all of this feels an awful lot like friendship, and then he realizes.  
“Uh… are we near Seijou?” he looks around, and finds nothing but unfamiliar storefronts closing for the night.  
“Are we?” Yahaba asks. There’s a moment of silence. “You were the one who said you knew of a convenience store nearby.”  
“Fuck,” Watari whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to just fucking roast me.


End file.
